That night, someone broke into my room to kill me. Luckily, I wasn't at home. I was slumbering peacefully about three dozen yards away in the room of Mr Victor Linton, my door firmly locked and a grouchy, bearded bodyguard standing guard in front of my male alter-ego's door.

'Dear me...' Whistling, I reached down and picked up a couple of loose feathers. 'Either someone wants me dead, or someone in this place really hates down pillows.'

'Neither, Mr Linton.' Picking up one of the pillows, Mr Ambrose examined it with icy eyes. 'If someone wanted you dead, there would be much easier ways to accomplish it than breaking into your room at night. The first time you – or in this case, your female alter ego – set a foot outside, a marksman could take you out with his rifle. Swift. Easy. No risk of discovery.' He straightened, pinning me with his gaze. 'This wasn't an attempt at murder. They wanted to abduct you. This–' he gestured at the slashed covers and cushions '–is merely a warning.'

'Abduct?' I blinked. 'But why would anybody want to abduct me? I haven't got a penny! And as for my uncle Bufford, the only thing he would give a kidnapper is a bill for the inconvenience. Why would anyone–'

It was only then that I noticed the intense expression in Mr Ambrose's eyes. It wasn't the gaze of an employer looking at his subordinate. He was devouring me with his gaze, raking it over me from top to bottom, assuring himself that I was still there, still alive, still in one piece. If I didn't know better I would almost have said it was the gaze of a lover. The gaze of someone who cared.

Oh.

He seemed to read the dawning understanding in my eyes.

'Yes, Mr Linton. Exactly.'

Oh. Oh my goodness...

Feeling my ears heat, I glanced away.

'So...it was Dalgliesh?'

'Who else?'

'What do we do?'

'We? Nothing.'

'But–'

'I will do a great many things, Mr Linton. But as for you – your primary task will be to keep yourself safe.' Marching to the wardrobe in the corner, Mr Ambrose tore open the doors and began pulling out dress after dress after dress. Then he started opening drawers and pulling out ladies' underwear.

'Mr Ambrose!' I started forward. 'I don't know what your idea of safety is, but I doubt those will be of any great help as body armour!'

Unperturbed, he continued rummaging through my underwear. Then, when he had pulled out everything he could find, he turned, and unloaded it onto Karim.

'Sahib?'

'Pack these.'

'Sahib! I...I cannot...I could not possibly...'

Mr Ambrose met the bodyguard's eyes, and the protests ceased instantly.

'Miss Linton will take a little trip away from this place.'

'I will?' My eyebrows rose.

'No. Not you. You are Mr Linton. It is Miss Linton who will be going.'

It took me a moment to understand.

'Ooh...'

'Yes.' Grabbing a suitcase from a corner, Mr Ambrose also pushed it into Karim's arms. 'Let me know when you have packed all of Miss Linton's things. I shall arrange for a coach to take her away.'

A coach driven by his own men no doubt. A coach that would only take me a few miles before depositing me in the snow as my male alter ego, ready to double back to the house.

'Mr Ambrose, Sir?'

'Yes, Mr Linton?'

'Have I ever told you that I love that devious mind of yours?'

'Restrain yourself, Mr Linton. Such strong feelings between gentlemen are inappropriate.'

Grinning, I snatched up another suitcase and started to help them pack. Only the underwear did I leave to Karim.

*~*~**~*~*

Everything went smoothly. I drove off in a coach only half an hour later – under the eyes of plenty of servants and a few surprised guests, who had stepped outside to see what was going on – only to return to the back of the house half an hour later as Mr Victor Linton, riding atop a speckled mount that didn't resemble either of the carriage horses.

'How long can we keep up this ruse?' I asked as I slid from the saddle.

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's jaw twitched in infinitesimal irritation. 'Only a day or two, I'm afraid. Christmas is approaching. My mother would be...displeased if you were not present for the festivities. For some inexplicable reason, she has taken quite a liking to you.'

I grinned, looking past him towards a fast approaching figure he could not yet see. 'You don't say...'

'Rikkard Ambrose!' He turned, just in time to see a pastel-coloured harbinger of doom descend upon him. 'What is the meaning of this? What is this I hear about Miss Linton leaving?'

Lady Samantha was not pleased, it appeared.

'Miss Linton has received urgent news.' Mr Ambrose met his mother's gaze head-on. 'She's had to leave on a family matter.'

'A family matter? Then why is Mr Linton still here?'

'The fact that his relative has had the impudence to fall sick at an inconvenient time is no reason for me to relieve my secretary of his duties. Miss Linton will have to fend for herself on her journey.'

'Rikkard Ambrose! You churl! You blaggard! You cannot send that sweet girl off on her own, out there where anything might happen! I can't believe...I can't...'

'I share your astonishment, Lady Samantha,' came a familiar voice from beyond the marchioness. Looking up, I felt a shiver travel down my back as I saw the new arrival: Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh, flanked by his two 'footmen', Thomas and Harold. For footmen, both looked extraordinarily tall, extraordinarily strong, and extraordinarily deadly.

'I, too, am somewhat concerned for Miss Linton.' Lord Dalgliesh smiled. 'I'll send Thomas after her. We wouldn't want anything to happen to her, now, would we?'

Lady Samantha looked hesitant. But there was hardly a way she could politely refuse. 'Really, Lord Dalgliesh, I don't think...'

'I insist.' His Lordship took a step forward. 'After all, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't offer a lonely lady my...protection.'

Lady Samantha was just about to open her mouth again, when I merrily interrupted. 'I agree.'

She blinked. 'You do?'

'Certainly.' I gave His Lordship my most brilliant go-kiss-my-generous-derriere smile. 'By all means, send your man after my sister. I'm sure she will be glad for the company.'

Lord Dalgliesh raised one golden eyebrow. 'Is that so...? Well, you heard the gentleman, Thomas. Move.'

Thomas gave a curt bow and, without a word, dashed off towards the stables. He seemed to be quite eager to catch up with my 'sister'. Quite eager indeed.

Shuddering, I tried to push aside images of what might have happened if I were still inside that coach, or worse, right here at Battlewood in female garb.

'Shall we go inside?' I offered Lord Dalgliesh another smile. 'Don't worry. My sister will be perfectly safe now.'

Lord Dalgliesh returned my smile, and even though he didn't say a word, his reply was clear: We shall see.

And we did indeed see. Or at least I did, from the window up in my room. Grinning, I perched on the windowsill, gazing down at the rumpled figure of Thomas trudging through the thickly falling snow. He looked like a man who had just spent two hours combing a blizzard for a girl that currently did not exist. I might almost have pitied him, if his employer hadn't been a murderous madman with delusions of grandeur.

'Enjoying yourself?' enquired Adaira from behind me.

'Very much so.'

'Well, I hope it lasts.' Smirking, she settled down on the windowsill beside me. 'Mother is looking for you. She is quite disappointed with you because you let your "dear sister" leave the estate. Apparently, she had begun to harbour certain hopes...'

She trailed off. But she didn't need to say anything more. Her wickedly dancing eyes spoke more than a thousand soppy romance novels. My ears started to burn, and I glanced away. So I didn't see her face when she added in a soft voice: 'She's not the only one, you know.'

My breath caught.

Had she really just...

No. No, she couldn't just have given me her approval to... no. It simply wasn't possible. I mean, we liked each other, but she knew who I really was and what I had been up to with her brother. What kind of little sister wanted a girl like that for her brother?

A soft hand took mine and gave it a firm squeeze. 'As far as I'm concerned – welcome to the family.'

This one, apparently.

I looked up, opening my mouth – but she was already slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her. My heart pounding like a poltergeist's kettledrum collection, I turned back to the window and the marvellous sight of Lord Dalgliesh's henchman cursing and shaking snow out of his boots.

It wasn't the only such sight that helped to amuse and distract me over the following days. My – that is to say, Miss Lillian Linton's – remaining luggage was stolen, the gardens were patrolled, the attics and cellars were secretly searched – all to no avail. Lord Dalgliesh looked more and more sour every day and, I had to admit, I would have found it extraordinarily amusing, if I hadn't missed my copies of Frankenstein and Ivanhoe. I had paid good money for those books! What right did that hook-nosed nasty of a lord have to pinch them, simply because he was looking for information on how best to kidnap me?

Still, every time I saw Lord Dalgliesh's fists clench in aggravation at the sight of me, I had to suppress a smile.

Here I am, Your Lordship. Right here in front of you – a girl hiding in plain sight. Only, you are too narrow-minded to even suspect it.

Unlike Lord Dalgliesh, however, the lady guests at Battlewood Hall didn't seem particularly upset by Miss Lillian Linton's sudden departure.

'She's such a greedy little witch, that one,' Lady Caroline whispered in a voice that she thought was low enough not to carry over the room to where I was standing. 'A real fortune hunter. I've asked around, and, apparently, her father's estate was entailed on the male line. She and her pack of sisters are living off the charity of some relative until they can catch themselves an unfortunate man.'

The other ladies giggled, and I had to suppress my urge to march across the room and slap the little witch across the face. That would not have been the kind of gentlemanly behaviour befitting Mr Victor Linton. Damn and blast good manners!

We were all gathered in one of the drawing rooms. When I say 'all', I mean all of those who had stayed behind. Most of the gentlemen had decided to go out hunting that morning, Mr Ambrose among them. Not that he would normally spend time on such frivolous activities as hunting. But ever since Lord Dalgliesh's arrival, I had seen it glinting in his eyes: the fervent need to kill something. Better he take it out on forest animals than on his mother's Christmas guests. So I had persuaded him to go, while I myself stayed behind. As for me, I could shoot with a revolver, but hunting rifles remained, for the moment, beyond me. So I had stayed behind. A decision that I was, right now, thoroughly regretting. Shooting something seemed like a very good idea.

'How did she ever even meet someone like Lord Ambrose?' another one of the hyenas whispered, scathingly. 'He's so far above her, she shouldn't even be able to reach up to his toes.'

Bravo, lady. Such a good job at advancing the feminist cause there.

'Her brother is Mr Ambrose's secretary.'

'What? Well, that explains everything. What incredible luck that little witch must have.'

'Not anymore.' Lady Caroline sounded smug. 'She's not the only one who can use one man to get to another.'

'You mean...'

'Yes. I'm going to have a little chat with this Mr Linton.'

'You really think he'd help you? Why would he?'

She smiled. 'The better question is: how could he say no? Have you met any man so far who's been able to resist me?' Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her adjusting her dress, pulling her neckline a little bit farther down. 'Watch and learn, ladies.'

Oh, I'll be watching this. I'll most definitely be watching. This should be interesting.